See No Evil
by GStales
Summary: Kitty is blinded.
1. Chapter 1

**See No Evil**

This fan fiction story takes place somewhere between The Way it Is and Seven Hours to Dawn.

I respectfully acknowledge the characters belong to Viacom but the story is mine.

**Prologue**

She smelled like something Sam had used to wipe the bar with. Kitty found that thought oddly amusing and it produced a smile on her face, as she filled five glasses of beer for the table in the back. She was not complaining. This was the slow time of year for the Long Branch so the early afternoon rush was a most welcomed surprise. The Cattlemen's Cooperative met on the first Tuesday of the month; without pressing matters to discuss their meeting had ended up at the saloon where the ranchers were spending money, playing poker, drinking beer and smoking cigars.

She filled the tray and motioned to Ruby to deliver the drinks. Ruby's dress strap was sliding down her shoulder and she had a beer stain across her bodice. She looked like she'd been through the wars. Leaning over the counter she whispered to her boss with a half grin, "Miss Kitty, If I'd a known it was gonna be this busy of a day, I'd a seen to it I got some sleep last night."

Kitty responded with a wry nod and a big intake of air, "I know what you mean, but I guess in this job, we've got to be thankful for the business. I imagine your pockets are jingling with tip change."

Ruby rolled her eyes with a smile, confirming Kitty's suspicion. "Men!" Fearlessly she grabbed the full tray and bravely returned to the fracas. Estelle had been working the other side of the room and was returning with a tray of empty mugs and an order.

"Just fill 'em up again Kitty. They don't care if the glasses are clean or dirty, just so they're full."

Sam at the other end of the bar was taking care of the walk up customers. Kitty offered him an encouraging look, which he returned. He was aware as well as she, the cash they took in today would guarantee the mortgage payment for another month.

By two o'clock the rush had slowed and Kitty had a opportunity to catch her breath. She had special plans for the evening and she was just giving some thought to returning to her room to start her preparations when Festus Hagen pushed through the Long Branch doors and headed in her direction.

"Miss Kitty, Matthew says if'n you want to say good-bye to him afore he heads out you'd best get yourself to the office right away."

"Heads out? What are you talking about? Where's Matt going? He can't go anywhere, he's coming here for supper tonight, isn't he?"

The deputy shifted uncomfortably, thinking this was not a part of his job description. "No'm. He got this here telegram saying as how Judge Brooker wanted him to testify up at Hays agin them Lonergan brothers. Says that's the only way them rascals'll get sent up fer a good long time."

Her pretty features turned to stone as the softness left her body. Festus's words were as good as a declaration of war! She threw her rag on the counter in disgust and marched around to the other side of the bar pushing Hagen and everyone else out of her way as she prepared to advance her troops.

She left without grabbing an outer wrap, despite the cold March winds. Kitty Russell stormed down the street to the Marshal's Office, bosom bouncing with each step. She opened the door, entered and slammed it shut. Dillon had his back to her, fitting his toiletries in a worn out carpet bag. He grimaced at the sound of the door. With a deep breath he fortified himself and then turned around to greet her with a smile.

Before he could get a word out she was on him. "What the hell is this about Mister? You and I had plans for tonight. I got up early to bake a cake; I've got an expensive roast ready to go in the oven …"

He shrugged his shoulders helplessly thinking he was right to have Festus bring her over here. A scene like this in the Long Branch wouldn't be good for either of their reputations.

"The job…"

"Oh you can take that job and your badge too and stick them where the sun don't shine Marshal." His official title was spat out like a cuss word.

"Kitty, will you give me a chance to explain?"

She stomped a foot in frustration at him, while crossing her arms in front of her chest unconsciously denying him access to one of his favorite views. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips were a thin line. "No."

He was leaning against his desk, half sitting. "Please?"

For a moment she softened and he saw his chance, "Kitty." Their eyes locked, and she moved forward. He pulled her the last few inches so that she was standing in front of him, positioned between his legs. "Maybe you don't believe me or can't understand it but I hate to leave you. But, if I don't testify there's a chance the Lonergon boys will get off with a light sentence and who knows what they'll do the next time they get it in their heads to start a little 'fun'."

She heaved a tremendous sigh, "Oh, I know and I understand … it's just …"

"What?" he encouraged.

Kitty opened her mouth than shut it again. She was hesitant to confess her secret to Matt Dillon, "Did you ever read any of those dime novels about Marshal Tex Wright - Hero of the Western Frontier?"

He held back a chuckle, "Kitty!" He said in surprise. "You read 'penny dreadfuls'? Why there's about as much truth to those stories as one of Festus Hagen's tall tales about his Uncle Maude or Aunt Henry!"

She shook her head, "I have to do something with my nights when you're gone. But the point is this, Matt sometimes I feel like we are living smack dab in the middle of those books. You forever going off on an adventure fighting savages, outlaws and desperados' and me like Marshal Tex Wright's virginal girlfriend, Miss Lucy Goode, patiently waiting for your return."

He had to stick his tongue in his cheek to keep from laughing out loud for he realized she was serious. "Kitty." he said waiting until she looked him in the eye. "My life isn't nearly as exciting as this Marshal Tex's life. More often than not, I'm settling a squabble between Jim Frank and his wife Tillie, or breaking up a brawl between a couple of cowpokes too drunk to swing at one another. And you Miss Kitty …"

There was a pout to her voice, "What?"

"Are nothing at all like the patient virginal Miss Lucy." And to prove his point he pulled her closer until she was firmly locked between his legs and began kissing her in a most insistent manner. As he figured she melted in his arms. When his point had been made he reluctantly withdrew his lips. "And I for one am very glad of that fact."

She looked up at him attempting a smile, although the corners of her mouth refused to cooperate. "I'll miss you." She said simply.

"I know." He replied.


	2. Chapter 2

**One**

That day early in March had started out warm, ripe with the promise of spring but sometime during the afternoon the wind had shifted blowing in bitter cold air from the North. The temperatures had dropped steadily until it was clear winter had returned or perhaps in reality, it had never really left. This was the kind of damp cold that cut to the bone. One sought comfort from most any source, be that man or man-made.

Kitty Russell was no different, she pulled her floral shawl closer around her shoulders and shivered. The ledger books and money box sat in front of her, waiting for her to tally the day's profit, but she ignored them. Instead she stared down at the whiskey glass in her hand swirling the liquid around just a mite. She sighed and winced involuntarily, knowing this drink would provide her only solace for the long night ahead.

As a matter of formality Sam asked, "Hasn't been a customer for the last half-hour, alright if I close up Miss Kitty?"

She heard the click of the lock, just before she answered, "Fine Sam."

She finished her drink in the semi-darkness. She let melancholy take hold as it always did the first night Matt was away. This would be the hardest one to get through alone when the pain of his absence was most acute and the realty of a lonely week ahead too absolute. She didn't shed tears for the heartache, what good were they when there was no one around to see them. With a steady hand she poured another drink hoping to dull the sting of loneliness.

The bottle was paid for she cynically reminded herself, thanks to a couple of cowpokes who had sat with her for a while earlier in the evening. She'd thought they looked familiar and had asked them if they'd met before. The pair had assured her they were new to town. They were clean and friendly, a balm to her spirit, complimenting her on her beauty and charm. She'd been sorry to see them go. With a smile the larger of the men had promised they'd return 'real soon'.

She took a long drink, noting the quality of the product was not up to her usual standards but taking pleasure in the burn of the whiskey as it traveled down her throat.

With Sam gone, she was alone in the Long Branch. This time of year there was no need for live-in help. The two girls who worked for her shared a room at Ma Smalley's. When Matt was in town she found this a convenient arrangement, but on a night like this it made the loneliness all the more unpalatable.

She poured the last drop of liquid from the bottle to her glass. Outside the wind continued it's punishment of buildings and trees. The LONG BRANCH sign which hung in front of the saloon creaked and groaned against its hinges threatening to break free of its hold. A tree limb was beating against a side window as though it were begging to come in from the cold. The thought made her chuckle. The sound of her laugh echoed eerily through the empty building.

By the time she decided to leave her solitary table the room was spinning. She was surprised for she didn't think she'd consumed that much of the amber colored liquor. "Good." She thought, "At least I'll sleep tonight." She closed the lid on her money box and set it atop the ledger books. The routine of this daily ceremony proved comforting and tedious at the same time.

She swayed as she made her way to the office, catching herself on the bar for support. Closing her eyes tightly she tried to fight off the dizziness. She inhaled deeply in effort to calm her panicking heart, while she wondered what was wrong with her. She forced herself to move forward, but the few steps to the office seemed like an insurmountable distance as she tried to navigate a straight line. Thank heaven she'd left a lamp burning in the little room. She followed it's beam as a ship follows a light house beacon on stormy seas.

A peculiar sensation traveled down her spine forcing a shudder through her body. Even in this altered state her senses warned her she was not alone. "Who's there?" she slurred. No answer. She forced her defiant tongue to obey her command. "Who's there?" she said again. This time stronger and clearer. As if in reply the light went out from the lamp and the room was enveloped by darkness.

Her head collided with something hard, the collision brining a razor sharp pain as she crashed to the floor. The tin cash box clattered to the ground next to her, the contents spilling out around her. The pain at first was too intense for her to move and she lay motionless. There were noises, strange muffled sounds that seemed to alternate in volume and frequency. A myriad of colors flashed before her closed eyes. There were voices and she forced herself to concentrate on the words.

"Light a match. Turn up the lamp."

"She dead?"

"Will be if she ain't already. Drank the rest of that bottle, she did."

A hand rough and calloused touched her face, "Shame too, such a pretty gal." The hand moved down her neck to rest on her breast. "Hearts still beatin', but won't be fer long." The hand lingered there, "Damn shame, I ain't been with a woman in ten years and the first I lay hands on is a dead one."

"More the shame Dillon ain't around. I had my mind fixed on pay back."

"We got us other concerns, we ain't got time for Dillon. Believe me that big man lives and breaths in this woman. Her dead is payback Fargo."

"It ain't payback enough. Not for what he done to me, I mean to see him burning in hell. I will too, mark my word. He's a dead man."

The thought of Matt in danger stirred her senses. She fought frantically to gain control of her body and master the all consuming pain, but her labors were in vain. It was as thought she were already dead. Her struggle changed course as breathing became more difficult. She heard gasping sounds and realized they were coming from her lungs. There was a roar in her head that grew louder like a steam engine bearing down upon her. She wanted to scream, but she had no voice. Then, finally, blessedly there was nothing.

**GS GS GS**

Sam had been fifty paces from his home when he'd realized he'd forgotten to lock the back door of the Long Branch. It was something he did routinely every night but this evening he'd been in a hurry to get home.

He cursed the cold and pulled the collar of his wool coat tighter around his neck. Sleet had started falling making the footing treacherous. Only a fool would be out on a night like this he told himself, and almost turned around to head back home. But, his sense of duty to Miss Kitty was strong. He wouldn't sleep he knew if there was the slightest chance she could be in danger.

He pulled out his key at the front door but held back surprised that a light still burned within. Not wanting to alarm his employer, he rapped on the door and called our, "Miss Kitty it's me Sam." He waited a moment and tried again. Deciding she must have gone to bed with the lamp still burning downstairs, he used his key. Once inside he glanced around the large saloon room as its shadows danced to the tune of the flame burning in the kerosene office lamp. He smiled, she must have fallen asleep at her desk again. Still not wanting to frighten her, he called out once more, "Miss Kitty, it's me Sam. I've come to lock the back door."

He thought he heard a sound coming from the office, or maybe it was the wind but he moved forward to investigate.

What he saw stopped him in his tracks. "Miss Kitty?" he cried. "Miss Kitty." He fell to his knees at her side. A large gash over her left eye was bleeding freely staining the small oriental rug that decorated the office floor. The old barkeep's hand hovered over her a moment before his fingers settled around her wrist. "My God." he mourned. "She's dead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Two**

Ten years earlier it would have taken three days to make the trip from Dodge to Hays City by stagecoach. Now, given good weather and passable roads the trip could be accomplished in half that time.

The ride was bumpy, evidence of the thawing roads. The stagecoach seemed to hit every rut and pothole on the Dodge to Hays trail. With only three passengers on board there was little comfort from body heat. Outside the winds howled and inside the cold draft worked it's way clear to Dillon's bones. He rubbed the spot on his thigh that served as an aching reminder of a bullet he'd taken some months back. Were the wound completely healed, he would have opted for saddle and horse and been in Hays by morning light.

He pulled the collar of his coat higher and the brim of his Stetson lower, giving his mind permissions to drift. His thoughts settled on his Miss Kitty. Imagine her reading those dime romance novels! Marshal Tex Wright - Hero of the Western Frontier, he'd seen the books around town and heard the talk amongst the men folk, how their women weren't getting any work done and instead spent their time devouring the pages of the latest chronicle. But his sensible, business minded Kitty, reading romance, he couldn't get over it and yet there was something endearing about it to him. He had a smile on his face and he didn't even know it as he thought of Kitty comparing herself to the patient and pure Miss Lucy Goode. Kitty, fiery, passionate Kitty. He pictured her as she'd stood before him in his office, eyes flashing, bosom heaving. He had sure hated to leave her. He promised himself he would make it up to her when he got back and he spent the next ten miles of the rough jarring ride thinking of the ways he would. It wasn't long before the cold ceased to bother him.

A broken axel jolted him abruptly from his daydream and forced he and his fellow passengers to walk the distance to the Walnut Creek Station. Run by an old grizzled widower, the way station lacked for creature comforts, watered down soup and stale bread was the supper fare. Dillon's night was spent sleeping on a bunk with a thin wool blanket for warmth and a snoring overweight traveling salesman for company. He couldn't help but think, were it not for the job, he would be in the warm bed of Kitty Russell, stomach full and spirit sated.

They pulled into Hayes a day late. Sheriff Harvey Tucker was waiting for the stage with his hat in hand.

Dillon sensed trouble the minute he saw the lawman. "What's wrong Harvey." He asked, stepping down from the coach.

The Sheriff pushed his younger friend off to the side away from traffic and prying ears, "Been waiting for you to get in Matt. Got this here telegram yesterday morning."

"What's this all about?"

"Doc Adams sent it. It's about Miss Kitty."

**GSGSGS**

He pawned his watch and rifle and used the money along with the cash in his pocket to buy the best horse available at the local livery. Then he pushed both the horse and himself to the limit in an effort to return to Dodge before it was too late.

**GSGSGS**

Kitty Russell returned to the world of the living one week later. Reality came in bits and pieces. The scent of sage and saddle soap, a loving hand with gentle fingers that rubbed thumb to palm, whispering words of endearment, prayers and memories, these were the tempters which coaxed her back to life. She sensed Matt's presence, listened for his voice, felt her hand engulfed in his and returned in kind the gentle pressure.

Weary eyed and exhausted with several days growth of whiskers on his chin, Dillon had kept his faithful vigil. "Kitty?" He asked his hopeful voice pleading. She squeezed his hand in reply. "Kitty." He said again, his voice filled with joy, the saying of her name restoring life and living to him as well. "Doc, get in here." He hollered urgently.

The old man, disturbed from his restless sleep on an uncomfortable cot stumbled his way into the infirmary room. Fearing the worst he asked, "What is it?"

"Look!" The younger man responded as he demonstrated. "Kitty, squeeze my hand honey, squeeze my hand."

The contraction of her fingers was nearly imperceptible but Doc saw it and Dillon felt it. Adams ran a weathered hand across his silvery whiskers, but could not hide the emotion evident in his eyes or voice. "She's coming back to us Matt. Thank God, she's coming back."

For a time it was enough for the big man knowing the connection which bound their lives and hearts was still intact. Doc had warned him, "She's had a very serious head injury, we're lucky she's still alive. It's going to take time, but she'll be fine. You've got to believe that and be patient."

Dillon was still young and patience is not a virtue of youth. For a man to whom words came hard, he became suddenly articulate, talking to her about anything and everything in an effort to give strength to her connection with life.

Her first word was "Matt". It was twenty-four hours before she spoke again. In the interim her head was filled with bizarre dreams that terrified her and pains so intense they took her breath. She would surface from the nightmares long enough to obey Matt Dillon's command to, "squeeze my hand Kitty," before, like the vortex of a whirlpool, she was dragged down to the depths of her pain and delirium once again.

**GSGSGS**

The March sun was shining full force through the window in the small infirmary. Dillon had returned do the room after checking in at the office. He walked in carrying a cup of coffee with the latest edition of the Dodge City Reporter under his arm. Settling himself into the arm chair by her bed he didn't hear her at first.

"Dark." her weak voice whispered. He set down the cup, and reached for her hand. "Dark, dark." she repeated.

The words didn't register with Matt Dillon, only the sound of her beloved voice bringing the light of day to his heart, "Kitty I'm here."

Her eyes were open wide, staring blindly in the direction of the sunlit window. "Matt?"

He was laughing with delight at her speaking. He dropped to his knees beside the bed so he could be closer to her. His voice was like honey, thick and sweet as he answered, "The sun is shining Kitty, it's not dark."

"Dark," she repeated.

The smile froze on his face. "No" he replied. "It's bright daylight."

He pulled one hand free from hers and waved it in front of her unblinking eyes. Fear cold and heavy settled in the pit of his gut.

"… can't … see." Pain and panic, took control. She tossed her head from side to side increasing her distress. "dark … dark …."

"Easy." He said, "Shhh," he soothed, forcing a calm that he didn't feel to his voice. His gentle hand lowered to her forehead, tenderly stroking her wrinkled brow, "You're right honey, it's dark, it's night, close your eyes now. Rest."

Her hand tightened its hold, he could feel the moisture as panic forced perspiration from her pores. "Sleep." he said, "It's night. The sun will be shining in the morning."


	4. Chapter 4

**Three**

Standing in the doorway the old doctor had watched the scene unfold. He waited until the rhythm of her breathing signaled she had obeyed Matt's command before moving to the lawman's side. He placed a caring hand to the younger man's slumped shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. "This is not totally unexpected given the force of the blow to her head and the location of her injury. I suspect there has been some damage to the optic nerve. It takes time for that kind of injury to heal. But, I have faith her eyesight will be restored."

**GSGSGS**

She awoke from a dreamless sleep, not sure if she had been unconscious for five minutes or five hours. In the quiet, she lay motionless, dazed and dizzy. The stinging bile of nausea welled in the back of her throat and she swallowed it down. Then, memories like shards of glass broke through the confusion. "Matt?" She wasn't sure if she'd actually said his name or it was just an echo in her mind. She strained her ears for the sound of his breathing and inhaled, longing for the scent of sage and leather. Where was he?

Each previous episode of consciousness had been met by his reassuring voice and loving hand. This time she was alone. She felt abandoned and helpless. Her heart beat faster with an ever increasing anxiety. Panic was on the verge of overwhelming her. She forced herself to take deep breaths and gain her bearings. As she lay in bed she began to form a mental picture of her surroundings. From the silence she knew it must be late. The chill in the air revised her thoughts; no it must be the early morning hours, when the fire has died out and only glowing embers are left to provide heat. She was at Doc's. The smell of carbolic disinfectant was everywhere; she detected another aroma, burned coffee. Yes, she was at Doc's. From the street below she heard the sound of a lone wagon passing. The clip-clop of a tired draft horse echoed through the night while the vehicle's squeaking wheels signaled its rotations. Some distance away, a dog was barking and an old barred owl was hooting out a warning to his next victim.

Kitty Russell had always hated the friendless night and hated more the isolating darkness. It was this reason saloon life had suited her so well. It was only after the sun had set that the Long Branch truly came to life. Though not given to introspection, she knew her fear of darkness was rooted in childhood. For the vision of her mother's lifeless body sealed from light and living in a plain pine box would return again and again to haunt memory and dreams. An eternity spent in darkness was a damnation she had always feared. Now she was living that hell.

Her body was stiff. Her cramped muscles too long in one position, cried for change. Testing hesitantly at first, she flexed the fingers of her left hand and stretched them out seeking companionship to ease the all consuming isolation. But, there was no comforting hand to offer reassurance and hope. She opened her mouth to say his name, but a moan came out instead.

She licked her cracked lips with a dry tongue. She was so thirsty. "W'ter," she whispered, though she knew there was no one to hear. In an attempt to ease her constricted muscles, she tried to roll onto her side. Like a sudden explosion the movement brought back a searing detonation of pain. Her skull was splitting in two. She screamed as the agony pulsed through nerve and fiber, twisting and turning in an effort to escape the torture, yet only intensifying the pain by her actions.

Doc Adams was at her side in seconds. Placing his hands on her shoulders he ordered, "Kitty, lie still." She was sobbing with anguish and despair, but Doc's healing hands brought balm to her frayed spirit. When at last in exhaustion she lay still, Adams released her from his grip.

"D't go .' She begged.

"I'm not leaving you Kitty. I'm going to my medicine cabinet to get you something for your pain. Be still. I'll be right back."

She fought for her sanity with shaky breaths while her hands pulled and clawed at the blankets with what little strength remained. Adams returned to the room taking his place on the chair by her bed. He poured a measure of liquid from a small brown bottle to a medicine spoon.

"Open your mouth Kitty." He directed as he held the spoon to her lips. There was an indistinct familiarity to the taste which brought sounds and smells to mind and instantly took them away again.

"Rest." Adams ordered. She remained immobile for a time after that, giving Doc's potion the opportunity to work. The old man sat beside her, holding her hand and crooning soft lulling words. Tight muscles relaxed as the drug took hold. Her limbs became heavy, pain lifted and a drowsy euphoria replaced her panic. She finally found the courage to open her eyes. A world of dark shadows met her view. She could tell the lamp was lit by the side of the bed, but could make out neither shapes nor figures. "Eyes?" she whispered.

"I know. You've experienced a serious head trauma. Matt thinks you must have hit your head on your office safe when you fell."

She ran her tongue over her lips. They were so dry. Adams saw this and offered her a spoonful of water. Her dry throat allowed for only a scratchy whisper, "w'they get b'ter?"

"Yes." He replied with more conviction than he felt. He offered her another spoonful of water. "It will take time. Do you remember what happened?"

She tried to recall but strange voices, flashing lights and strobbing colors clouded her thoughts. Doc could see the confusion written on her face. He patted her hand and reassured her, "It will take time Kitty. You sleep now."

"No ..." She moaned.

"I'll be right here." He told her. She stopped fighting the pull of the medicine he'd given her and let the narcotic finally have its way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Four**

Even in the cold of winter Ma Smalley's rooster was the first to wake the neighborhood. Down the street the school bell rang, warning town students that classes would begin in one hour. Around the corner the local blacksmith was hitting hammer to anvil with a reverberating clang, clank, clang. The dirt paved road below Dr Adams quarters was alive with early morning traffic. Farm wagons, buggies and cowpokes astride sturdy range ponies paraded up and down Front Street each going about life and living. The unmelodious voice of little Annie Johnson as she peddled fresh milk and eggs sang and out loud and clear, "eggs got fresh eggs for sale, milk got fresh milk." Kitty Russell emerged from her foggy sleep to the cacophony of these every day noises but it was the sound of a well-loved voice coming from the outer room that roused her to full consciousness.

"Matt." She called forcing strength to the word. The conversation in the front room was suddenly quiet, so she repeated the name. "Matt."

There was a creak to the bedroom door and he was beside her faster than she imagined possible. His voice had a breathless quality as though he were forcing calm and good humor, "Welcome back."

"Where were you?" She asked in a weak and broken voice.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips softly against hers, she could hear the smile in his voice when he answered, "Doc made me promise to stay at the jail and try to get some sleep. I think he slipped me something, I slept the whole night."

A ghost of a smile lifted her lips. "...'gave me sleepin' pow..ders too."

Dillon grabbed her hand in his, "How do you feel?"

"Groggy," she replied. Her heart and mind tried to imagine the look on his face and in his eyes. "H're you?"

"I'm fine. Kitty? Can you see?" He questioned.

Slowly she opened her eyes. "Sun … shining?" Her question was almost a statement.

"Yes!" He encouraged. "Can you see?" He asked again.

She turned to the sound of his voice opening her eyes wide desperately trying to see something, anything. He moved and she thought she could detect his form, but where there had been only black now there were shades of darkness. She raised a shaky arm. Her fingers seeking his countenance. He moved forward to oblige the loving hand. When contact was made she trailed her fingers over the contours of his face until her fingers rested on his lips.

Tears rimmed her eyes, "What … if …. never see your face …. again?" She breathed.

The big man swallowed back the lump in his throat before answering, "Now Kitty don't talk like that." He forced a laugh, "Before you know it you'll be seeing so much of this ugly mug you'll be sick and tired of it."

How could she ever tire of his blue eyes, the curve of his lips or the power and strength of his features? "Never, not ever."

**GSGSGS**

In the early days following her return to the conscious world, Kitty Russell had been frightened. Like a small child fighting the ghosts and goblins of the night so Kitty battled the dark, often clinging to any hand offered to her and holding tight to Doc's prediction, "it will take time, but you will see again." She listened and followed his orders unquestioningly. "Don't worry," he'd say, "rest, just rest." Obediently, she smiled when prompted and offered neither argument nor complaint no matter how uncomfortable the request. Although the headaches and vertigo persisted, her strength was slowly returning. Within a week Doc was allowing her to sit in a chair for brief periods of time.

But as the days went by with little improvement to her vision, she began retreating to a world of her own making, surfacing only to respond to direct questions. She took little interest in herself or the world around her save for the circumstances concerning her last night in the Long Branch.

Her memory of the events surrounding the incident was vague and blurred. Reconstructing her actions, Matt Dillon had said it was obvious to him what had happened. She'd been tired and had a little too much to drink, as evidenced by the empty bottle Sam had found at her table. Unsteady on her feet, she'd tripped and fallen when entering the office striking her head on the sharp corner of the ancient safe in the back room. It was fortunate Sam had returned to the saloon for who knows what might have happened had he not.

Something about Dillon's theory didn't ring true to Kitty. A few glasses of whiskey wouldn't be enough to make her falling down drunk. She could out drink most men. There was more to this she was sure. But, try as she might she couldn't remember what had happened. At night she dreamed dreams haunted by strange threatening voices and an ever changing kaleidoscope of colors. When she would awake in the morning the details of these night images vanished leaving behind an uneasy feeling.

**GSGSGS**

As the month wore on the steady stream of friends who stopped by to visit her noticed a change. She barely acknowledged their presence other than a faint, 'hello.' before she lapsed into silence. She was becoming reclusive, insulating herself in a cocoon of solitude while waiting for Doc's prophesy to come true. Little by little the protective shell hardened. She stopped thinking of the future and the present, concentrating her thoughts on obscure memories. Occasionally, she'd feel a surge of anger at her circumstances which she would immediately squelch. Like some ancient mantra, she'd repeat Doc's pledge, "You will see again."

For Matt Dillon her indifference to his companionship was like the loss of a part of himself. It wasn't the spoken word he missed as much as the weakening of the indefinable bond between them.

**GSGSGS**

She sat by the window, her unruly hair tied in a ribbon at the nape of her neck. She was dressed in an ill fitting wool robe which covered an unattractive flannel nightgown. A small table in front of her held a breakfast tray fresh from Delmonico's. She preferred to eat he meals alone lest someone witness her lack of table manners.

Adams had explained as he removed the red gingham cover from the tray, "Steak is at twelve o'clock, eggs at six, toast at nine and fried potatoes at three." He'd guided her hand to the coffee mug and told her he'd already added the cream. He hesitated before leaving her, studying her disheveled appearance. Sure you don't want me to keep you company?" With a smile pasted in place she shook her head, "Thanks for the offer but this is something I'd rather do alone."

She sat motionless still smiling until she heard the door close, before attempting to eat her meal. She had tried using a fork and knife but had felt like a fool stabbing at food that wasn't there or biting at morsels which had already fallen from her fork. It was much easier using her fingers. But that required privacy. Her fingers explored the plate before settling on a portion of steak which had been cut into bite size pieces. The meat was tough and she realized she had no appetite for it. She searched the plate for the toast, what was it Doc had said? 'Toast at nine.' It wasn't there. She fumbled around growing more irritated at the process. She had an overwhelming desire to pitch the whole plate at the door. The problem was she couldn't see the damn door. Instead with a sweeping motion she pushed the tray plate and all it's contents to the floor producing a satisfying crash.


	6. Chapter 6

**Five**

In the adjacent room Matt and Doc were discussing her condition. The physician was attempting to find the words to explain to the younger man that he may have been wrong in his prognosis. The noise from the bedroom caught them both off guard. Dillon cringed at the sound before moving to the door. Doc stopped him, "I want you to listen to what I have to say before you go in there. This is part of a natural process that occurs whenever someone suffers a loss. Disbelief, guilt, depression, anger, the order of the emotions may change, but each is a necessary step to bring about acceptance. I've always felt anger signals the fight has come back to the soul and that's what she is going to need from here on in."

The old doctor walked to his roll top desk where he picked up a small leather bound volume. "This came in the mail the other day. I've studied it and I believe you should become familiar with it too." He handed the book to Matt.

Dillon read the title. DR WILSON'S DIRECTIVES ON THE EDUCATION AND REHABILITATION OF THE BLIND. There was bewilderment on Matt's face and disbelief in his voice. "But, you said she would see again."

"I thought her sight would be back by now or at least we'd have witnessed significant improvement. I'm not saying she won't see again, but with each passing day the odds lessen in her favor."

Dillon held the book in his hand as though testing its weight. Finally he opened it and glanced at the chapters which ranged from Hygiene, Day to Day Living, Table Etiquette, the Walking Stick, and an introduction to Deciphering Dr. William Moon's Method of Literary Hieroglyphics for the Visually Impaired. A second crash from the bedroom abruptly halted his perusal.

"I'd better see what's going on in there before she destroys the room." Doc said as he turned toward the door.

Matt stopped him. "I'll handle this."

**GSGSGS**

Rage like a downpour was deluging her senses and she shook with the fury of it. There was no stopping the wild current of emotions which had finally broken free. Hearing the door open a desire to lash out at something or someone took over. She bent to the floor and grabbed at the first thing her hand came in contact with, her coffee cup. She stood and hurled it in the direction of the sound. Her aim was true and had the lawman not ducked he would have been hit.

"Get out!" She screamed. "Get the hell out of here. Leave me alone."

"Kitty, take it easy." Dillon soothed as he cautiously approached her.

"Why? What good will taking it easy do? Will it bring back my sight?"

"Kitty …"

"I'm blind, I can't see more than shadows. What good am I? I can't take care of myself, much less earn a living. I might as well be dead."

He moved to her in anger. His hands curled around her upper arms. Giving her a gentle shake he said, "Don't say that, don't you ever say that again. Do you hear me?"

"Why?" She spat back. "It's the truth, you're so big on the truth Matt Dillon, you and your damn badge. Well if you can't see the truth in this than you're as blind as I am."

Twisting from his hold she moved toward the lighter shadows of the window. She turned her back to his voice as she wrapped her arms around herself. Just as suddenly as it had come anger left her body. With defeat in her voice she said, "Just get out."

There was a series of rapid knocks at the door, "You need me in there Matt?" A concerned Doc asked from the other side.

With a turn of his wrist, Matt clicked the lock on the door insuring privacy. He turned to stare at Kitty while replying to the physician outside the door, "Not right now Doc."

She could feel his eyes on her and with a slight stiffening of her spine she said. "I don't need Doc and I don't need you either Matt Dillon, I don't need anyone anymore. Just go away and leave me be."

He didn't know the words to reach her. He'd long ago discovered love didn't guarantee saying the right thing. He only knew he couldn't let her surrender without a fight. "Go ahead and give up. All I can say is it's a fine way to pay back all those people who love and care about you."

His words produced a sudden acceleration of her heartbeat as a wave of nausea made her sick to her stomach. She swallowed it down. She turned to face him. Her breath quickened, she was nearly panting when she asked, "What did you say?"

Matt frowned with worry. He moved to her. She was ghost white. "I said it was a fine way to payback …"

"That's it," she interrupted. "That's it … payback. Payback!" She stood motionless for a moment, hardly breathing now. Slowly, she repeated the words as they returned to her memory. "Ain't payback enough. Not for what he done to me. I mean to see him burning in hell. I will too, mark my word, he's a dead man."

Dillon feared for her sanity, "What are you talking about?"

"Two men … they bought a bottle of whiskey and sat with me that night. They didn't do much drinking, they left most of the bottle for me. They came back later, after the Long Branch was closed. They must have knocked me out."

"That doesn't make sense Kitty. There was no sign of any one breaking in. Nothing was taken. Your cash box was in the safe. The lid was closed and all the money was inside."

"No, no … I remember, I remember hearing the money clatter around me on the floor. I remember there was something strange about the whiskey. They drugged me. I'm sure of it."

He wanted to see the sense in what she was saying, "Why would they do that and not take the money?"

"Don't you see? The money didn't' matter. It was you they wanted. They wanted to kill you. Matt, you're in danger."

Deciding she was suffering from the after effects of the head injury, Dillon forced a calm voice, "wearing a badge draws danger, it's part of my job. You know that."

"No, They'll come back for you." She reached out for him, moving forward until she touched him. "Get Sam, he'll remember those men. They looked like cowpokes, one had dark hair, the other …"

"Kitty …" He said hoping to calm her.

"Just get Sam, please Matt." She begged.

He heaved a silent sigh, "All right, I'll get him." He turned to unlock the door but glanced back at her. Her whole demeanor had changed. There was no defeat to Kitty Russell now, only fight.

"Matt?" She asked with a spark in her unseeing eyes.

He'd capture the moon for her in a silver basket if she asked him to and the way he said his one word reply told her that, "Yeah?"

"I want to go home. Bring me some clothes."

Dillon suddenly grinned, "My choice?"

She reacted to the smile in his voice with one of her own. "I think I can trust you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Six**

Sam confirmed what Kitty had said, "Yeah, I remember them Marshal, they seemed pretty ordinary types to me. They were keeping Miss Kitty company that night, bought a bottle of whiskey as I recall." He finished drying a beer glass and set it on the shelf behind the bar.

Matt shifted feet on the brass foot rail, there was a frown wrinkling his brow, "Did you notice anything strange about them."

Sam set down his bar rag and squinted his eyes, "Yeah the clothes they were wearing looked new, they weren't broken in . They were stiff like."

"If you saw them, could you identify them?"

Shaking his head, Sam replied, "No it was their clothes that made them stand out. Like I said, they were ordinary types."

Dillon rubbed his chin for a moment then asked the bartender, "Can you get one of the girls to watch the bar for a bit, Kitty wants to talk with you."

Sam nodded and called to the dark haired woman dressed in saloon garb and playing solitaire at a back table. "Ruby, keep an eye on things, I have to go out."

Gathering her cards together, she replied, "She thing Sam."

As Sam untied his apron and reached for his hat, Matt advised, "Tell Kitty I'll be over with her clothes, stay with her until I get there, alright?"

It had been weeks since anyone had been in Kitty's room and it had a closed up musky smell. Moving to her wardrobe, Matt searched for the appropriate clothing, looking for something she wouldn't have a problem getting into by herself. He understood she needed to build up her confidence in caring for her own needs. He chose a dark blue skirt, a plain white shirt-waist and a floral shawl he'd given her a couple years earlier for her birthday. He kept the undergarments to a minimum foregoing a corset which he figured she didn't need anyway. Stuffing everything into a carpet bag he turned to leave the room, but he gave one backward glance. If Kitty were coming back here, he'd need to move a few things so she wouldn't be endanger of falling over furniture and hurting herself. He pushed a large ornate standing mirror to a far corner and lined up the sitting chairs along one wall. He carried a small round table to the window knowing she was able to distinguish some light and figuring this would be a comforting place to sit. Before he left, he opened a window to let the fresh breeze replace the room's stale air.

When he arrived back at Doc's he found the three of them were sitting around the table drinking coffee and in active conversation.

Kitty was asking, "Could they have drugged me Doc?"

"It's possible Kitty, the symptoms you describe are indicative of a morphine over dose. But, I don't understand why they would have gone to all that trouble and not have robbed you."

"They wanted Matt, when they found out he wasn't around…."

Dillon shut the door and the group looked in his direction. As he moved into the room he agreed with Doc, "That's the part that doesn't make sense to me, there was enough cash to make it worth their while."

Sam concurred, "It was a busy day, we'd made a good profit."

Kitty shook her head at the lot of them, how could they be so dense she wondered, "Look, if they had taken the money you would have know I was murdered and would have gone after them. This way you'd figured my death was an accident. You'd be broken hearted of course, but you'd be none the wiser to their motive."

The fire in Kitty Russell had definitely returned. Dillon looked at her and the corners of his lips twitched upwards, she must have sensed his amusement for she smiled back. He said, "The lady with all the answers, and Miss Kitty you think these men will be coming back to finish me off."

"I think they had other matters to attend to but I have no doubt they will be back, they said as much."

Adams stood up and moved to the stove to retrieve the coffee pot. He filled a chipped mug and handed it to Matt. "Then you're both in danger you know. Somehow you're going to have to find these men before they can act again."

Dillon agreed, "Doc's right they won't like the fact Kitty's still alive." He took a drink of the coffee before continuing, "It's been nearly four weeks, I can't follow a trail that old. I guess the only thing to do is sit tight and hope they give themselves away." The blue of his eyes deepened as he looked at her, she'd never been more vulnerable than she was now. "We've got to get Kitty out of Dodge."

She rose to her feet nearly upsetting the table in the process. "I can identify those men, I know their voices - I hear them in my sleep. I'm not going anywhere, except back to the Long Branch. That's the first place they'll hit when they come back to town."

Adams grabbed her arm in his hand, "Kitty I don't like this one bit."

"Well, I'm not crazy about it either, We won't be safe either of us until those men are behind bars. But, there's no way in hell I'm going to hide away somewhere waiting for them to come back here and shoot Matt down. Not when I can help it."

Matt Dillon was torn between the desire to keep her safe and the logic of her words. Finally, he nodded, followed by a reluctant, "Alright, but you're going to listen to me on this and not take any chances."

Sugar could have melted in her mouth as she replied, "Oh Matt, don't I always."

**GSGSGS**

She felt like a fool being guided up the front stairs of the Long Branch like some unsteady toddler or worse yet a doddering old woman. Even though she couldn't see she could sense all eyes upon her. Their pity was tangible and somehow that knowledge made her stiffen her spine and hold her head straighter.

The mere effort of putting one foot in front of the other from Doc Adam's place to hers had been exhausting. Now standing at the threshold of her room her feet felt like they could carry her no further. Matt inserted a key into the lock and she listened as the tumblers gave way and the door swung open.

With gentle pressure to the small of her back, Dillon urged her forward and out of the view of curious saloon patrons. The room was cold for no one had closed the window he'd left open that morning. She welcomed the chill of her room. The exertion of her walk home had caused a sweat to break out on her forehead and under her arms. Matt closed the door behind her and all but carried her to the brass four poster where she collapsed.

"I'm fine." She reassured him as he raised her legs from the floor to the quilted bed top. "I just need to catch my breath."

Matt said nothing while he tucked a wool afghan around her then moved away to shut the window. For a moment she panicked. "Don't go." she implored.

"I'm not going anywhere. You just close your eyes for a little bit and rest. I'll get a fire going and warm things up in here."

She forced a calming breath and listened to the familiar sound of his actions. She could visualize his every move, recalling the many times she'd watched him perform the same task from this very spot. She imagined the play of sinew against muscle as he bent over the stove. She pictured the strength of his hands as he opened the oven door and placed the logs inside. The smell of the sulfur as he struck the match reached her nose. Gentle memories served her well and soon brought calm to her. After the trauma of the last weeks, the simple ritual of Matt lighting a fire brought her comfort and sleep.

Dillon returned to Kitty's side pulling a chair so he could sit next to her. Leaning forward he rested his arms on his legs while he watched her. As she had moments before so did he let his memories replace the harsh realities of life and he vowed a silent oath one day things would be as they were before.


	8. Chapter 8

**Seven**

There were sleeping powders mixed in a glass of water by her bedside table if she needed them. She had refused to drink the concoction earlier stating she was exhausted and sleep would not be an issue. In truth she wanted nothing more to do with medications that would dull her senses and muddle her brain. She gave that notion a second thought now, for Kitty had been awake for over an hour, her mind too full of thoughts to allow sleep. For a while she had listened to the reassuring sound of Matt's breathing next to her. An occasional snore would escape from his mouth and she would think how good it felt to be this close again.

Nothing could harm her here, she felt infinitely safe with Matt's solid form beside her, but what about the morning? Matt had responsibilities, he couldn't be by her side every moment. He had told her he didn't want her out in public unless he, Sam, Doc or Festus were there to keep an eye on her, even in the Long Branch, when the saloon was open, she was to be watched over. She felt helpless and it was not a good feeling for one such as Kitty Russell.

For most of her twenty-eight years, Kitty had been in control of her own fate. Now she was at the mercy of others. Her thoughts revolved in an uneasy circle. What if those men came back and she were here alone? Was there anyway she could protect herself? She visualized the saloon, it was her home and she should know this place like the very back of her hand. Yet did she? How many stairs were there to the lower level? How many steps was it from the landing to the bar, from the bar to her table from her table to the office? Could she find the rifle kept hidden behind the bar and if she did could she blindly shoot it?

The darkness of the night was a great equalizer she reasoned. Matt's hand had found it's way to her hip. She carefully slipped from under his hold, the springs of the bed creaked. "Kitty?" he questioned in a groggy voice.

"Everything's okay Matt. Go back to sleep." She replied. He mumbled something before rolling over on his side.

She lay still, waiting until the steady tempo of his breathing verified he'd fallen back to sleep, when he was again snoring she edged out of the bed and stuffed her pillow under the covers so he wouldn't notice her absence. She was wearing a thin nightgown and the cold of the early morning whooshed over her. Why hadn't she asked where he'd placed her robe, but of course Matt had planned on getting it for her in the morning. She forced herself to focus on the job at hand and not the chill in the room. Keeping her hands in front of her Kitty made her first cautious steps. The door was to the left of the bed and she counted out her paces as she walked. She misjudged and found herself at the side bureau. She bumped into a row of chairs that hadn't been there before and stubbed her toe forcing from her a silent curse of pain. Using the wall as guide she worked her way to the door frame. Her hand explored until she found the handle. Turning the knob ever so quietly, she opened the door and slipped silently from the room.

Her heart was hammering away in her chest so loudly she felt certain if she were still in the room the sound would have awakened Dillon. Very tentatively she inched a foot forward searching for the first step. It was four paces before she reached the stairs. She grabbed a hold of the banister with a white knuckled grip. "You can do this." she encouraged herself. She counted with each nervous step as she made her way down the staircase until at thirteen she reached the saloon floor. She stood still, listening. The clock on the wall ticking off the seconds was the only sound. Again she visualized the main floor, mentally moving from one end of the room to the other. There would be tables and chairs in her way. She would have to move slower and with extra caution to safely navigate the distance to the bar.

Even using her hands and feet to test the way, she ran into a chair, then the table. She backed up and into another chair and table the action throwing her off balance and she stumbled to the floor. Her leg was scrapped by the knotty pine wood and bloodied she was sure, however she had no alternative but to crawl on her hands and knees.

She had lost her bearings and was turned around with no idea which direction she was traveling, until she remembered the floor boards ran the width of the saloon. It seemed she must have covered the distance from the stairs to the bar a hundred times before she finally came in contact with the brass footrail. The finding of it brought such relief that she cried.

The noise from the level below rousted Matt from his sleep. It was clear someone was in the downstairs of the Long Branch. He grabbed his gun from the night stand by the bed and moved from under the covers, taking great care not to awaken Kitty. He tip toed in long johns and bare feet to the door which he cracked open in order to listen for the intruder. There was some light coming in from the street lamp casting ominous shadows across the room below. Dillon traveling close to the inside wall, made his way down the steps. He had his gun at the ready, when he heard a sound coming from the other side of the room. He cocked the hammer on his pistol, "Hold it right there." He ordered.

"Matt! Don't shoot! She cried with a shaky voice, "It's me."

He heaved a questioning sigh of relief and frustration, and moved quickly to the sound of her voice, but an overturned chair tripped him bruising his shin. "Damn." He swore, squinting in the dark, "Kitty where are you?"

There was a sob in her voice, "On the floor, by the bar."

With a limp to his step, he hobbled to the bar. When he reached Kitty's side he lowered himself to her level. "What are you doing down here? Are you okay?"

"Oh Matt, it was just foolishness I guess, I wanted to see if I could find my way around."

His words came out more gruffly than he intended, "Come on." he said lifting her to her feet. She fell into his arms and his voice softened as he patted her back, "Nothing foolish about that, but don't you think it could have waited until morning?"

She shivered in the cold and he tightened the embrace. "I hate being helpless." She confessed.

"You helpless?" He questioned and she nodded against his chest. "Honey, maybe that's how it feels right now, but you're not you know."

She sniffled. "How do you figure that?"

"You've got more guts than ten men, you're smarter too. I promise you, before we're through, you'll know your way around this place so well, you won't need your eyes to find where you're going."


	9. Chapter 9

**Eight**

It was to the high country, north west of town that Homer Fargo and Will Gundrum headed when they left Dodge City that cold March night. Their horses were near spent after three days of hard riding. But, they couldn't afford to rest, they'd wasted enough time already. They had a deadline to keep. The terrain they traveled was rugged, dominated by the Wind River Mountain range. The unforgiving topography was not suited for most civilized pursuits. It was country useful only to those who had something to hide or were themselves in hiding from the law. The late winter winds were icy pellets of sleet whipped against the exposed flesh of their faces and hands beating their skin raw with it's force.

Pulling the collar of his new wool coat higher on his neck Gundrum called to his companion. "I almost wish I was back at Leavenworth, at least I'd be in out of the cold and have one warm meal a day."

"We get our hands on that money and you won't be talking so foolish like. We should be coming on the cabin soon. Hootie'll have grub and a warm fire."

"Yeah," Gundrum hollered into the wind, "and ten grand just waiting to be split three ways."

In the distance a dilapidated farmstead came into view. The closer they got, the more obvious it was the place had been abandoned. The house was nothing more than a ram shackled lean-to. The front porch roof was sagging at an odd angle with only a single support to keep it from toppling to the ground.

They tied their horses to what was left of the hitching rail and stepped on the rickety porch. The weather battered door was slightly ajar. "Hootie, Hootie Watkins!" Fargo called. He kicked the door with the heel of his boot. The hinges gave way and the door fell in. The crash was followed by a plume of dirt and dust. Walking over the fallen door the men entered the cabin. As their eyes adjusted to the darkening interior, they saw only the tattered remnants of a mattress and quilt on what was left of a bed frame, a few discarded tin cans were scattered about amid other garbage and animal droppings. The ragged remains of faded blue gingham curtains fluttered in the wind from the open door frame. The place had a rancid odor to it that burned their nostrils. "What the hell's going on here?" Fargo asked. Stepping over the refuse on the floor he walked to the fireplace and pried two bricks free from the chimney façade. An empty cavity was exposed. "Where the hell's our money, Where the hell is Hootie?"

"Damn him, damn his sorry hide, that bastard ran off with the loot." Gundrum cursed. In disgust he rammed his rifle butt though the window's cracked glass frame. Uttering foul epitaphs he looked out at the barren landscape, it was then that he saw a crudely fashioned cross marking a mound of dirt. "I think I found Hootie."

**GSGSGS**

Homer Fargo squirmed his way closer to the fire. His bedroll on the dirty cabin floor made for uncomfortable sleeping. He and Will Gundrum had propped the door back in place and boarded up the window. At first he had feared they'd burn the place down when they started the fire in the old fireplace and a good amount of smoke had billowed into the room. But now it was providing at least adequate heat to keep them from freezing to death. Their provisions were running low, for they had counted on Hootie having everything ready for them. "Hootie, damn him, damn him to hell." Fargo cursed, than almost laughed aloud for it was not Hootie Watson's mortal soul he was concerned with. Ten years in prison was a long time to spend for nothing, as it was the ten grand had seemed a small enough reward for all he'd been through.

Homer Fargo didn't much care about his partner, Will Gundrum one way or the other. The only bond between the two of them had been the time served and the money bags waiting for them. They'd never been what you'd call friends. Both had been members of the Sharlow gang, which was how they'd met. Fargo had found a talent for safe cracking, a skill which had proved profitable. Homer felt he deserved a bigger share of the take. Old man Sharlow saw it differently and Fargo decided to go it alone. Gundrum, who had been at odds with one of the Sharlow boys had tagged along with him. They had been successful pulling off a couple of bank robberies in Texas and had taken a small pay load off a stagecoach near the border. But Fargo wanted more than being a two bit outlaw. Dodge was to be their big heist, the one that would set them up for a good long time.

Fargo hadn't figured on falling for a saloon gal named Lois Mae Watson. Even now, ten years later the though of her brought an ache to his hardened heart. God, she'd been a pretty little thing. Gutsy too, working nights at the Lady Gay to earn enough to support herself and her thirteen year old brother Harley.

Somewhere along the line Harley Watson had earned the nickname of Hootie. He was a good boy, earning extra change by slopping out the saloon every night. Homer had taken something of a shine to the kid. The boy hero worshipped him and that made Fargo feel like a big man.

The outlaws had been in Dodge City about six weeks checking things out plotting and planning. Homer had gotten a job at the General Store. Frequently, he was sent to the bank with a deposit or delivery. He'd learned a great deal by keeping his eyes and ears open. The type of safe used by the Dodge City Bank was familiar to him and he knew with a little luck it wouldn't take him long to crack it. News leaked out that the bank was expecting an Army payload at the end of the month. The money would remain in the bank's vault one night before it was moved on to Fort Dodge.

At night Homer Fargo had slept in Lois Mae's bed in the back room of the saloon and in the dark he'd whispered the details of his plan. It wasn't the Marshal he was concerned with he'd tell Lois Mae, it was that long lanky deputy of his, Matt Dillon. He was too sharp, too quick with his gun and the outlaw sensed he was a marked man in Dillon's eyes. Fargo had caught the deputy staring at him in Delmonico's. The lawman had turned to say something to his table companion, the town doc and then gave a nod in Fargo's direction.

Lois May had laughed at him, " Don't worry about Matt Dillon, he's too taken with the new kid at the Long Branch to pay you heed. Why, he's with Kitty every chance he gets."

With that knowledge a new plan began to form. Over a beer one night, he'd learned from Nathan Burke a junior clerk for the shipping company that one of the deputy's duties was guarding the bank when large amounts of money were awaiting transfer. Fargo had figured to distract the deputy and everything else would take care of itself. He'd found this cabin and told Lois Mae they'd make it home for a few years, until the law forgot about the money. A home of her own, even a run down old cabin appealed to the young saloon girl. She left her job to make the cabin comfortable, putting blue gingham curtains on the windows and rag rugs on the floor. He'd promised her someday she'd have all the pretty things she wanted.

"All I want Homer is you and a chance for a fresh start."

"Lady you got me already." He had pulled her into his arms until he felt the beat of her heart against his chest. "I mean to give you everything."

They'd waited in the shadows across the street from the bank. The guard out front of the building had switched around midnight to Matt Dillon. The deputy positioned himself in front of the bank, a rifle in his arms and a keen look in his eyes. The outlaws dared not move or they would have been detected by the lawman.

According to plan, Hootie lurked in the alley behind the Long Branch keeping watch on Kitty Russell's room. He waited until light appeared in the window signaling she was getting ready for bed, when he saw her shadow silhouetted against the shade he fired three shots, the intent to cause a diversion. There had been screams followed by a flurry of activity from the saloon. Moments later the bartender had called down the street to Dillon, "Miss Kitty's been shot!" Just as Fargo had planned, Dillon gave no thought to the responsibilities of his badge. Money was no substitute for human life especially the life of the woman he loved. Matt Dillon had left his post to run down the street to the saloon. Kitty Russell had been grazed by a shot but was otherwise unharmed. By the time the deputy returned to the bank the vault was empty.

Everything had gone as planned, the safe had responded to Fargo's sensitive fingers and rewarded the outlaws with more money than they had ever seen. Hootie had run down the back alley to the place where they'd hidden the horses and was ready for Fargo and Gundrum when they slipped out the back door of the bank. The three had ridden out of town with no one the wiser. Lois Mae was waiting for them a few miles out of Dodge on the Silver Creek turnoff. She was dressed in a pair of Hootie's dungarees and an old plaid shirt. Fargo kidded her that she looked more like a man than her brother. They were all laughing at the joke when they heard the thunder of riders in the distance. Homer handed the bank bag to Hootie and instructed the boy and Lois Mae to ride like hell to the cabin and stash the money in the hidden chamber of the fireplace chimney. "Then make yourselves scarce. We'll get rid of the law and meet up with you tonight."

The girl had refused to go, "I'm sticking with you Homer."

There hadn't been time to argue with her. They watched the kid take off in the direction of the cabin as they turned toward the creek bank in an effort to cover their trail. Somehow Dillon had tracked them. He followed behind until they were within range, "Hold it right there." He'd ordered. Fargo was fast with a gun, as fast as Dillon but he waited knowing Gundrum would pull his weapon first. Dillon fired a shot winging Gundrum as he jumped from his mount and sought cover. Fargo took aim and wounded the lawman in the shoulder. The sound of gunplay drew the makeshift posse. It was all over before they knew what hit them. Fargo had taken a bullet in the side and another penetrated his thigh. He fell from his horse into the water. He remembered Lois Mae jumping down from her horse to help him, and that's when she'd been hit. It was a bullet through her heart that killed her. Homer Fargo couldn't prove it but he'd always reckoned it had been Dillon who'd done it. That's why now he figured it was fitting that he was the one who killed Matt Dillon's woman. Let Dillon suffer a little like he'd suffered these last ten years. In due time Homer Fargo would be glad to put the lawman out of his misery.

A late winter storm turned into a high range blizzard isolating the pair of convicts. They were down to the last of their rations and the horses were in danger of starving. Life seemed pretty grim. On the fourth day after their arrival there was a knock at the door, it was Gundrum who answered it.

Sliding the door a bit he looked at the young man standing outside on the porch grinning at him. Will said nothing for a spell until the caller asked. "Well aren't you going to invite me in?"

A big smile spread over Gundrum's face as he reached out to pump the visitor's hand. "Well I'll be a sonovabitch." He declared.

Fargo glared across the room, annoyed that they'd have to share their last bit of food with this freeloader, but he took a second look at their unexpected company. Something vaguely familiar registered with him. "Hootie?" he asked, "Hootie Watson?"

As the years in prison had changed Homer and Will from men of young to middle years, so had the passage of time changed Hootie Watson from a boy to a man. It was his smile that that proved his identity.

"That's right Homer. It's me. I'd hoped to get up here sooner. I just got your letter a few days ago, or I would have been up here waiting for you. I've got a pack horse full of supplies."

Homer and Will exchanged puzzled looks. "Well if you're here, who's buried out there and where the hell is our ten grand?"

Hootie threw back his head and laughed. "Why fellas, the money's buried out there. I figured that was one sure way to keep it safe, ain't too many folks want to go messing with a dead body, especially one that's been setting in the ground fer a spell."


	10. Chapter 10

**Nine**

Hootie Watson had spent ten years waiting for Homer to return from prison. The outlaw was the only link the boy had to his sister and the dreams they had shared for the future. While Fargo and Gundrum were awaiting trial in Dodge the boy had snuck into town. Late at night he had gone to the jail house window. Lying on his belly in the dirt, Hootie had whispered through the barred window. Despite his injuries Fargo had made his way to the window to talk with the child. "Don't you spend one red cent of that loot boy, you keep it safe, you hear me? As soon as Gundrum and I get out of this, I'll get word to you and I promise you kid, you'll get a fair cut. I mean to take care of you. Lois Mae'd a wanted it that way. Me and you is family now."

At night the boy would comfort himself with the image of the two of them riding together. Maybe they'd use the money to buy a ranch or head to California and he'd try to remember the plans he'd heard Fargo whisper to his sister in the dark of their room at the Lady Gay. Keeping the money safe became the paramount issue of his life and the thirteen year old boy had spent a week digging the grave to bury the loot in.

He was barely surviving on his own. He left the cabin and headed closer to civilization. He sold his horse and his dead father's pocket watch. and took odd jobs when the opportunity presented itself. The work paid poorly and barely kept his growing body from starvation. With winter coming on his future looked bleak and he knew it. He'd gotten a job as a stable boy in a small town near the Kansas border He made his nightly bed in the hay loft and ate scraps the stable owner gave him. The passing months took their toll on the child. Hootie had taken a fever and his body was nothing but skin and bones. Finally the local sheriff took control and sent the sick boy to the Mission House in Old Lebanon, Kansas. There he had been treated well and had learned to work hard and get along with others. In spite of the gentle surroundings Hootie never gave up the image of Homer coming back for him.

**GSGSGS**

The trio headed back to Dodge some ten days later. They waited for the weather to calm down and the snow packed trail to open up. It would be weeks before the spring thaw took the frost from the high ground and allowed the outlaws to unearth their treasure. Gundrum wasn't happy about the decision to leave the loot and return to Dodge and voiced his concern. "We got even with Dillon fer what he done to us, there ain't no need to risk our necks not with all that money buried up here."

Homer disagreed. "I still have a score to settle, I mean to put Dillon in his grave. There's a bonus too. If my plans work out, we'll all be rich men by the time we leave that hell town."

There was no arguing with Fargo when he made up his mind on something. A pure evil surfaced in the outlaw whenever Dodge City was mentioned and Gundrum knew he wasn't man enough to fight it. Hootie took Fargo's side, shaking his head at Will in disgust he tried to make him understand. "It's because of Dillon you spent ten years in prison. It's because of Dillon my sister's dead."

Though they planned to keep a low profile in Dodge City, the two outlaws had let their facial hair grow to serve as a disguise. Fargo's gray sprinkled beard made him nearly unrecognizable from the man he'd been on the last trip to Dodge. Will Gundrum had opted for a shaggy moustache to conceal his identity.

After the years in prison, nothing felt so good as freedom and the open air, so the ex-convicts had taken their time on the ride to Dodge City, spending their afternoons hunting or fishing for their evening dinner. For Hootie it was his childhood dreams come true. Homer was the brother he'd never had and he felt a sense of family at last.

They made their last camp ten miles out of Dodge; it was while Hootie was frying up a mess of pan fish that a stranger rode into camp.

He was a young man in his middle twenties cleanly dressed with a pleasant face, "How do. That fish smells mighty good." He complimented. "Got room for one more? I got me some fresh coffee grounds and a half an apple pie the wife gave me before I headed out. I'd be pleased to share in return for a bite or two of that cat fish."

"Where are you from stranger?" Fargo asked.

"Name's Ollie Newcomb, I work for Mr. Lathrop at the Dodge City General Mercantile. I'm headed for Freistadt, there's a dry goods store closing up shop there. Mr. Lathrop wants to buy out the stock."

An unnatural smile curved the line of Homer Fargo's mouth, "Welcome stranger. Make yourself to home."

"Why thank you, thank you kindly, I'm telling you, I had no desire to sleep out here alone. You can't be too careful you know." He busied himself by bedding his horse down and spreading out his bedroll.

As they ate their dinner, Fargo proceeded to question their visitor. "Nice place that Dodge, heard tell it's getting damn near peaceful these days."

"Oh that's for golly darn sure. Marshal Dillon keeps a tight lid on it. Of course he's only one man and there are plenty of bad ones out there, if you know what I mean."

Gundrum chewed on the end of a cigar a bit before replying, "Yeah, I think I catch your drift. Too bad about that Miss Kitty, from what I heard she was a mighty pretty gal. Do they know what happened to her?"

Ollie chewed and swallowed his fish before answering. "Why, Miss Kitty is still pretty, prettiest gal around I reckon. But don't tell that to the wife." Ollie laughed at his own humor and reached for more fish. "Miss Kitty makes out right well, you'd hardly know she can't see a lick."

Fargo nearly choked on his fish. It took a couple of solid thumps to his back from Hootie to loosen the food caught in his gullet. Gundrum poured his partner a hasty cup of coffee to wash down his surprise.

Newcomb continued talking as if nothing had happened, "Talk was she fell and hit her head on the safe in her office. So they say, Doc Adams kept telling her she'd get her sight back but it's been way over a month now and she's still blinder than a bat."

Will leaned forward, "Heard tell she and that badge Dillon was tight, how's he handling it?"

"Oh I guess he's with her every chance he gets. But his job keeps him busy if you know what I mean."

The thought had crossed both Fargo and Gundrum's minds to do away with the traveler for certainly he had his pockets filled with the cash from Mr. Lathrop's vault. But for some reason they both decided to apply their actions to more pressing matters. In the morning they wished Mr. Newcomb a safe journey and thanked him for sharing his pie and coffee. He in turn thanked them for their hospitality. "Mention my name to Mr. Lathrop and he'll give you a good deal on whatever supplies you'll be needing, if you know what I mean."


	11. Chapter 11

**TEN**

Harry Schoen had been the warden at Leavenworth for less than six months. A man in his fifties, he was assumed to have reached the pinnacle of her career. When he suffered a fatal heart attack that spring everyone felt mighty bad. While cleaning out his office in anticipation of the new warden no one noticed the telegram that had fallen into his wastebasket.

_Please forward names of recent parolees._

_M. Dillon, U.S. Marshal_

_Dodge City, Kansas_

**GSGSGS**

Matt sat at his desk going through the pile of old Wanted Posters matching pictures to the names he'd received from the half dozen prison wardens he'd contacted in the last month. Nothing was a firm match although there were a few possibilities. Still, from what he'd pieced together from Sam and Kitty's descriptions he felt certain he was on the right track.

"Git any leads did ya Matthew?" Deputy Festus Hagen asked as he made a sweep around the Marshal's chair with the straw broom.

Dillon lifted his feet so Festus could get at the dust and dirt from under his desk. "No Festus, nothing I can say for sure. I have a couple wanted posters here, I'll have Sam take a look at. Hopefully he'll recognize one of them and we'll have a better idea what we're up against.

**GSGSGS**

Matt Dillon was mighty proud of Kitty Russell. There were times she handled herself and her business as though the injury had never happened. She, with the help of her friends had worked diligently to accomplish that goal, spending hours memorizing every inch and nuance of the Long Branch. The only concession to her disability was evidenced by the fine hickory cane Festus had carved and polished for her, and the smoked glasses she wore to cover her unseeing eyes.

With the book DR WILSON'S DIRECTIVES ON THE EDUCATION AND REHABILITATION OF THE BLIND as their guide, Kitty had discovered the ability to discern the denomination of coins by the feel and weight of them and Sam had learned to fold the paper bills in a variety of ways so that Kitty was able to differentiate the separate currencies. She had even mastered pouring a beer and only the most fastidious of customers would have objected to her finger resting at the rim of the mug. So as long as she was within the four walls of the Long Branch she felt confident and safe.

Kitty kept her hair style and make-up simple. But, the simplicity only enhanced her beauty in Matt's eyes. She made a point of talking to each customer, a stranger always earned extra attention as she tried to determine if one of these men shared an identity with her attackers.

Over the past weeks her eyesight had improved enough for her to distinguish forms if not features in the brightest light of day. And on those sunny afternoons when she sat on her back balcony with Matt, she would remove her dark glasses hoping to see more than the day before, hoping to see the smile on his face and the light in his eyes. It was not to be, so she satisfied herself by enjoying the laughter in his voice and the warmth of his touch.

Yes, she felt secure in the Long Branch, but the thought of venturing outside the saloon frightened her and the confines became the boundary of her world.

As time went on, Doc stopped promising her sight back and instead focused on encouraging her to learn the Moon System of Literary Hieroglyphics for the blind. He had ordered some elementary primers. She, more to humor him than for her own benefit, spent an hour or so each day learning to read with her fingers.

The saloon was empty that morning. Only Sam at the bar kept a guarding eye on the batwings. He nodded a greeting to the Marshal as the younger man pushed his way through the doors. Dillon headed straight for the back table where Kitty was working on her lessons. Matt teased, "You look like a schoolgirl getting ready for class Miss Kitty." She did too, her hair was hanging about her shoulders and her smoked glasses were perched on her nose. She even had a glass of milk and cookies on the table beside her.

"I feel like a school girl." She wrinkled her nose at him. "These books are meant for six year olds, you'd think they could come up with something a little more interesting."

Adjusting his Stetson, Dillon sat in the chair next to her. He helped himself to a cookie and took a drink from her glass. "I bet if I was able to find the latest story in the Marshal Tex Wright - Hero of the Western Frontier series in the Moon System, you wouldn't complain so much about your homework."

She smiled at him, "Well, that's true enough. I wouldn't mind reading about Marshal Tex Wright with his broad shoulders and slim hips. It certainly would hold my attention better than, 'Jack can run. Jack can play. Jack can run and play'."

Dillon laughed out loud and asked with mock shock, "That the kind of stuff in those penny dreadfuls? No wonder half the women in town have their noses stuffed in those books!"

She nodded. "It's true, Marshal Tex is mighty irresistible."

He was frowning, she didn't need to see him to know that. He was jealous of a storybook hero. She took pity on him and reached out to caress his cheek but came in contact with a milk moustache instead. Using the pad of her thumb she wiped away the moisture. With a throaty voice that he loved so well, she cooed, "Tex is a poor substitute for the real thing."


	12. Chapter 12

**Eleven**

In their room at the Dodge House, Homer Fargo schooled the boy on his new identify, "Don't wanna take no chance the name Harley Hootie Watson still rings a bell with Dillon. Remember your name is Harvey Carson. You ain't never been to Dodge City before. You're on your way to California. Just passing through …"

**GSGSGS**

The darkness was unforgiving, but in it's merciless depths there was also an awakening of her remaining senses**. **The warmth of a calloused but loving hand in hers, of silk and rough canvas, of lace and tanned leather, of prickly beard against tender skin, brought explosions of light to her endless night. The smell of sage and saddle as it mingled with French perfume, a heady and intoxicating aroma, the scent never before as intense as it was now. She savored the taste of fine wine, of rich chocolate, of steak so tender it almost melted in her mouth. She partook in the pleasure of salty skin and brandy flavored lips, soft, hard, searching, exploring, straining, taking, giving. There were times her appetite for these delicacies was greedy, always seeking more, needing more.

**GSGSGS**

Kitty would spend her afternoon at the rear table of the Long Branch listening to the conversations in the saloon. If she concentrated, she could hear details of discussions from every corner of the large room. It was an amusement for her, and she picked up a lot of useless information which only served to reinforce her notion, that men were every bit as gossipy as women. Festus had notched a deck of playing cards for her and she would busy her hands with a game of solitaire as she listened.

It was on such an afternoon that a bearded Homer Fargo stood at the batwing doors pointing out the location of Kitty Russell to Hootie Watson. His voice was low, but not so low that Kitty wasn't able to detect it's presence. She cocked her head slightly waiting for more words which might give away the owner of the voice, when nothing more came she decided her ears were playing tricks on her.

"Sam?" She called in the direction of the bar, "Could you pour me a cold one please."

A young strange voice answered. "Allow me ma'am." She heard the sound of beer glasses sliding down the waxed bar, solid footsteps coming closer and the scrape of the chair next to her as it was being pulled out.

"Mind if I join you?" the voice asked as the cold glass was placed next to her hand. The voice was youthful and friendly.

"Please do." Kitty answered, mindful that Sam was likely keeping a watchful eye in her direction. Have we met before?"

"No ma'am. I'm new to Dodge, just passing through you might say. My given name's Harvey Carson." the voice replied.

"Well Harvey, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. My name's Kitty Russell. You say you're just passing through, where you headed?

"West," he answered, "maybe as far as California. I got me a hankering to see the ocean. My sister always talked about wanting to see the Pacific coast. She'd say the streets of California are paved in gold."

"Oh are you traveling with your sister?"

"No ma'am she died a few years back. She was like you I reckon, she was a saloon gal, real pretty like you. I guess you and she'd be about the same age."

"I'm sorry about your sister." Kitty smiled then and asked, "She was your older sister?"

"How can you tell that?" He wondered aloud, "I mean you, they say you can't see."

Rudeness wasn't his intent and it wasn't taken that way by Kitty. "Oh I guess I can hear it in your voice. You sound young and eager to experience life."

"I am that Ma'am. It seems I've waited a mighty long time to do it, too."

She reached a hand across the table until she came in contact with his arm. She offered him a pat of encouragement. "It always seems like that when you're growing up, like you'll never be old enough to do all the things you want. Trust me on this, you grow up fast enough in this life."

She stopped talking all at once when she heard the scuff of a familiar boot approaching her table. The boy noticed the change in the throaty quality of her voice. "Hello Cowboy, care to join us."

Matt Dillon eyed the young man sitting at the table with Kitty, judging him as harmless, he offered a smile and a wink. "I don't want to break in on a private conversation here."

"Oh Matt." She returned, "Sit down. This is Harvey Carson, he's passing through town, and was nice enough to buy me a drink. Harvey, this is Marshal Dillon."

"How do." Matt said offering a firm handshake to the stranger. "I hope you don't mind son, but I'm going to steal this pretty lady away from you."

"Oh you are?" Kitty replied coyly.

Dillon grabbed her hands in his and pulled her to her feet. "Yes Ma'am. I have a buggy waiting out front with a picnic basket packed. It's too nice a day for you to spend shut up in a saloon." Enlisting the young stranger's support, Dillon asked, "Don't you agree Carson?"

"Yes sir." Hootie replied. " I guess I don't have much choice being as how you're the law and all."

"Glad you see it my way."

Dillon grabbed her shawl and a sunbonnet from the nearby coat tree and then started to lead Kitty away from the table, but she remembered her customer and turned to say, "Thanks for the beer Harvey, maybe we can sit and chat again before you head on to California."

"I'd like that." he replied.

She allowed Matt to direct her to the batwing doors, but she stopped short. She swallowed nervously. She wasn't ready to leave the security of the saloon yet. "I should change." She said looking for an excuse.

He gave her a gentle tug through the doors and onto the boardwalk, "You look just fine." He assured her as he wrapped the shawl around her shoulders and placed the bonnet on her head. She hastily tied the ribbons securing the bonnet in place. She was wearing a deep russet skirt which matched the darker tones in her hair and a modest blouse with a soft tie at the neck that complimented the lighter hues. Her hair was held back by a ribbon the color of her skirt. He gave her a hand into the buggy and she awkwardly found her place as he walked around to the other side to climb on. She felt the carriage sway as he adjusted his weight.

With a 'cluck,' the horse started off down Front Street. Dillon smiled to himself as he felt the grip of her hand on his thigh. He gave a satisfied chuckle thinking she was as eager as he to be alone at their favorite spot. But, then he realized her other hand was gripping the side of the buggy in a rigid fisted clamp. She was only holding onto him out of fear. She was scared half to death. His suspicion was confirmed by the look of suppressed panic on her face.

He wanted to stop the buggy right there and take her into his arms and assure her everything would work out fine. But that wouldn't solve the problem and would only serve to embarrass her. What Kitty needed right now was a little starch to stiffen her spine. Dillon forced a teasing tone to his voice. "I've got a couple poles in the back. If I remember right, the last time we went fishing I caught more fish than you did." That had been six months earlier after the last of the herds had traveled through Dodge and they'd had more time to spend together.

She released his thigh. Her voice grew indignant. "You did not Matt Dillon! Why I can't remember a single time we've gone to Silver Creek together when I haven't out fished you."

He laughed, she'd fallen for his trap, "Well, maybe you're right there. But, I reckon that's all gonna change today."

Immediately she realized she'd been baited and Dillon was pulling her in. Still, she couldn't help but rise to the challenge. "Like hell it will Dillon, like hell it will."

As it turned out no fish were caught that afternoon and only a couple bites were consumed of the sandwiches that were so carefully prepared by the eager lawman.

It was from a hill overlooking the creek bed, that Gundrum and Fargo caught sight of the couple wrapped passionately in each other's arms, loving one another under the blue skies and spring sunshine. Will raised his gun to take aim for they were within rifle range. Homer reached over and grabbed the weapon away. "No Pard let them two enjoy themselves. I got me a better plan for sweet revenge and it's gonna fill our pockets with all the money we want."

**GSGSGS**

The sun was setting like a fireball on the western horizon when they made their way home. It had been a good picnic. As the horse clip-clip clopped down the street, Dillon asked, "Look Kitty, I've been wondering, how would you feel about going to the spring sociable with me?

"Oh, I'm not sure if I'm ready to make my public grand debut."

He reached out and pulled her closer, "Well you've got a while to think about it. But …"

Her head rested lightly against his shoulder, "What?"

The emotion caught in his throat for a second. "You are really something Kitty Russell. I'm proud of you!"


	13. Chapter 13

**Twelve**

The following day Matt Dillon received a telegram from Warden Frank Potter at Ephraim Territorial Prison. Two convicts had escaped three months earlier. Fred Deuth and Robert Johnson had been outlaws involved in a number of stagecoach holdups several years earlier. Matt had been the lawman who had brought the men in and it was his testimony that had sealed their fate. They fit the hazy image of Kitty and Sam's description and could have been in town at the time of Kitty's injury. The pieces all fit neatly in place. Fortunately, they had been recaptured and were securely back behind bars.

Matt and Kitty breathed a sigh of relief. "There's no need to be afraid anymore." Dillon assured here.

**GSGSGS**

For the most part, she put on a brave face, there were times when the darkness of her world forced an isolation that was more than Kitty could stand. It would pull against her like waves lashing against a sand castle, eroding the structure of her life. Those nights when she was alone were the worst, for her world was never darker. At least the morning brought the sunshine and shades of gray replaced the absolute black. There were moments when she was overcome with a mad desire to escape the boundaries of her blindness. In those times she wanted nothing more than to get on her little mare and race across the prairie until both she and the horse were spent. Maybe then she could outdistance the demons of darkness that haunted her.

She retired to her room much earlier in the evening than she had before she lost her sight. Sam did the figures and closed up the bar, while Kitty would sit in her room and wait. Wait for the chance that Matt might come. Wait for morning. Wait for her eyes to see.

On one such night she left the security of her room to make her way out the back door to the small balcony that overlooked the ally behind the Long Branch. She and Matt had spent many hours over the years escaping the summer heat on the small lofty porch. Now she ventured out alone. Taking her time to feel for the railing, testing each move forward with a tentative foot. She eased herself down on the first step keeping one hand on the banister to secure her position. The breeze was steady and she raised her hand under her hair the better to feel its effects.

Dillon making his rounds had looked up as a matter of routine to see her at the top of the stairs. His heart skipped a beat when he thought how dangerous a position she had put herself in.

"Kitty?" he questioned in a soft voice as he started to climb up the stairs. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just enjoying the night." She replied.

He sat down next to her, "That's kind of dangerous for a woman alone, especially when she's blind."

Kitty laughed without humor. "Nothing like calling a spade a spade."

His voice had a kind gruffness to it, "Well it is dangerous, you know." The full moon cast shadows across her alabaster skin and he studied her classic features for a moment watching as she nodded and sighed.

His face was etched by sweet concern, "Anything I can do to help?"

She sighed again, "You know what I want to do right now?"

There was gentle humor in his reply, "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"I want to go for a ride. I want to ride at a full gallop as fast as my horse can go, I want to feel the wind in my hair, I want to feel …"

"Whoa …" He said, quickly putting a stop to her impractical desire. "Don't you even think of doing that."

She sighed yet again. "I know."

He had noticed how with each sigh her shoulders had slumped more and her face had become sadder and it broke a bit of his heart to see her hurting so. A thought came to him. "Let's get you inside. I have rounds to finish and I've got some business at the jail house tonight, but you be ready to ride tomorrow morning at six."

"What are you talking about? You just said I couldn't ride."

He stood up. "Just be ready." He said as he helped her back to her feet.

At the door he bent and quickly pressed his lips to hers, "Sleep well." he said before giving her a small push into the building. She leaned against the inside wall and licked her lips, savoring the taste of his kiss.

She dressed in her black split skirt, white blouse and riding boots and was ready for him the next morning. Promptly at six, there was a knock at her bedroom door followed by Sam's voice. "Miss Kitty the Marshal says to meet him at the front of the Long Branch in five minutes.

By the time she had made her way down the stairs to the front of the building Matt was waiting for her. "Good morning." He greeted guiding her out the doors to the hitching rail in front of the saloon. As if on cue she heard a whinny of recognition from a familiar horse.

She pulled back. With her hands to her hips she asked, "What have you got planned?"

"Why Miss Kitty, it would pleasure me and old Buck here, if you would do the honor of going for a ride with us."

"What?" She stammered. "How?"

"We'll ride double. Here take my hand. I'll give you a leg up." When she was settled in the saddle Dillon hopped up behind her. She was sitting stiffly almost primly which wasn't the big man's intention. "Relax." he ordered and she did.

With a gentle nudge to the buckskin's flank the big gelding started down Front Street. It wasn't until they were a ways out of town that he picked up the pace. "He Yaaaa!" he yelled. The horse lunged forward into a full gallop. The morning sun kissed her cheeks while the wind tousled and teased her hair. She laughed with the sheer joy of the ride, "Faster." she cried, "Faster" He held her tight and man and horse obliged.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thirteen**

A banner was stung across Front Street. Flyers had been posted in shop windows and nailed to the buildings of the town's merchants. After the harsh months of winter Dodge City was ready for a party. The Methodist woman had a bazaar planned and the Baptist ladies a bake sale. In less than a week's time the street would be full of booths and games and the day of celebration would end with a barn dance at Roger Clark's place on the edge of town. And Kitty Russell still hadn't given the Marshal an answer to his invitation to the dance.

With the recapture of those believed to be responsible for her attack, Kitty no longer feared for her life. What did concern her was the insecurity of dealing with her handicap in public. She felt self-conscious outside of the Long Branch. Even venturing across the street to Mr. Lathrop's or Delmonico's held more obstacles than she cared to face. She worried about tripping over objects, running into someone or bumping into posts. The thought of eating a meal in front of people was enough to give her nightmares. She knew the good folks of Dodge would look at her with pity and compassion and she couldn't stand the thought. It boiled down to that stubborn Russell pride.

Harley Watson, alias Harvey Carson had become a frequent customer at the Long Branch. He made a point of spending time each day with Kitty, buying her a beer and sharing small confidences about his years at the mission house, as he worked to gain her trust. In turn she told him stories about growing up on gambling boats and coming to Dodge with only a handful of bills and a pocketful of change.

It was Harley who finally convinced her to attend the dance. "Seems to me ma'am, if you don't want folks to pity you then you got to prove to them you're as good as you ever was. Otherwise they're just going to go on thinking poor ol' Miss Kitty."

Kitty had winced at the truth of the young man's words. "You've got a point there." she admitted.

**GSGSGS**

"I done it! I done it." Harley boasted as he entered the room he shared with Gundrum and Fargo.

Fargo was lying on the bed, propped by pillows and headboard. His spurs dug into the bedcover fraying the woven fabric. He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey he was holding. With a look of vague annoyance he asked, "Done what boy?"

"Why what you told me to do Homer. I convinced Miss Kitty to go to that sociable dance just like you told me to."

Fargo let loose a triumphant laugh. "Good work! Finally that god damn woman's gonna get what she deserves, yup, we'll take care of her and Dillon too."

Will Gundrum was sitting by the window with his feet propped atop a scruffy table as he smoked a cheap cigar. "Gonna let us in on your plan? I'm still wondering how all this is gonna make us rich, seems to me it's just agonna earn us an invite to a lynch party."

"It's a mighty plan, with Dillon gone, this town and all that's in it is gonna be ours for the takin'. It'll all be ours." A satisfied smile passed his lips before he raised the bottle to take a final swig.

**GSGSGS**

She practiced with Festus in the early morning, holding onto his arm as he guided her across the street to Delmonico's. He whispered directions and encouragement. "Now use that there cane I made fer you Miss Kitty. We're almost across the street, there's a step coming up. That's right … good. The door's to our left and then straight on ahead. Watch out fer that step." He advised as she stumbled but didn't fall. "I reckon this is like a little bitty baby just a learnin' to walk. It might take some time, but purdy soon you'll be a runnin' all over town."

She didn't share his optimism, but she'd be satisfied to make it through breakfast without any major disasters. Festus was patient with her and that was what she needed more than anything else. She found that by slowing down her actions and thinking them through she was able to accomplish the meal without any mishaps.

Doc came by that afternoon as she was drying bar glasses, "Miss Kitty, I've come to take you away from this drudgery and out for a stroll in the fresh spring air."

"Oh you have, have you and what makes you think I'd be interested in a stroll with you?"

"My dear Miss Russell, need I remind you that I am one of Dodge City's most eligible bachelors, not to mention, it's most charming and distinguished. You could do worse than to be seen around town on my arm."

"Well Curly, if you think it will improve my social standing in the community, I'm all yours."

One by one her friends stepped forward to encourage her to think beyond the boundary of the Long Branch walls. Day by day her confidence grew.

**GSGSGS**

The night before the sociable, Kitty retired to her room early. Sam and the girls could handle the saloon even though it was sure to be a busy night. The Long Branch would close early the following day in honor of the Sociable and Kitty was thankful for the extra income a good night would provide. Still, she wasn't up to a room full of rowdy cowboys.

She didn't expect to see much of Matt. He'd have his hands full just trying to keep a lid on Dodge. She told herself she didn't mind, for he had given his word, he would stay by her side come hell or high water at the dance. She wasn't naïve enough to believe he would, but hearing the words spoken was a balm to her confidence.

It was a warm evening and she opened her window to let in the late April breeze. The air smelled sweet like lilacs and apple blossoms and the scent brought with it memories of the picnic she'd shared with Matt.

She was too restless for sleep and decided to bathe and wash her hair, when she had finished she slipped into an ivory colored silk negligee. With the absence of her sight, her acute tactile sense delighted in the feel of the smooth fabric against her bare flesh.

In preparation for the morrow, she laid out her clothing for the day and for the dance. Her new dress was hanging from her wardrobe door. The material had been chosen months before. Running a hand over the gown she tried to remember the fabric. It was sky blue polished cotton with tiny indigo violets embroidered on the bodice and edging the hemline. It was a simple gown by her standards, carrying with it an almost innocent appeal. She had never seen the finished product but had no trouble visualizing it in her mind's eye. She took it from the hanger and held it in front of her. Music from the bar room below wafted up to her room and she twirled around imagining she was at the dance. Her enthusiasm was halted when she bumped into a table knocking over a vase and a picture frame. Her confidence plummeted, "Damn." She swore dropping the gown to rub her bruised thigh.

Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door, "Everything alright in there?" questioned Matt's voice.

She moved quickly to the door, this time, mindful of obstacles in her way.

"Oh Matt." She said.

"Hello Kitty." He answered. "Mind if I come in for a while?" Not waiting for her reply he moved into the room and lit the lamp on the bureau by the door.

Her smile was easy to read, not that he was looking at her smile. She voiced her surprise, "I thought you said you'd be too busy to come by tonight."

"I figure I've got a few minutes, I wanted to see how you were doing." He noticed the dress on the floor. "Is that blue thing what you're going to wear?"

She chuckled ruefully, "I was practicing my dancing steps. I bumped into the table and dropped my dress."

He moved closer, she could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke. "That's no good. Miss Pry would never approve. Sounds like you need some dance lessons Miss Kitty." The remark raised the corners of Kitty's lips, for Matt Dillon was not the best of dancers and she'd had many a sore toe to prove it.

Before she could open her mouth to reply, he swept her into his arms. To the tinny toned melody from the player piano below, they whirled around the room at a dizzying pace. In her sightless world she clung to him with complete trust. His husky whisper tickled her ear, "Your first lesson Ma'am, remember it is not proper to drop your dress at the dance …" And then their movements slowed to a seductive sway, his hands lazily working their way up the contours of her back until he reached her shoulders. There he slid his fingers under the straps of her ivory gown and the negligee slipped from her body to pool at her feet. His lips moved to hers as he breathed the words, "Save that step … for later …"


	15. Chapter 15

**Fourteen**

She stayed in bed longer than usual the next morning, listening to the hustle and bustle from the street below. She could hear Bessie Roniger's distinctive voice directing Festus in the building of the Ladies Aide Bazaar Booth and Miss Edsel Pry scolding Reverend Neal about the moral implications of operating a kissing booth. The rat-tap of hammers kept time with Sam and his friends practicing their instruments for the square dance in the main room of the Long Branch. Kitty giggled remembering the dance she had shared with Matt the night before. She stretched against the satin-smooth bed sheets, delighting in the feel next to her bare skin. With any luck she thought I can get Matt to give me another dance lesson tonight.

**GSGSGS**

It had been a lovely day Kitty thought as she changed into the blue gown for the evening's festivities. Festus and Doc had escorted her to the various attractions on Front Street. She'd purchased a quilt from Bessie and the Ladies Aide and a cake from Miss Pry and the Methodist Women's Auxiliary bake sale. She had cheered Festus in the pie eating competition and laughed as Doc described Louie and Festus winning the three-legged race. She'd only talked to Matt for a few moments in the afternoon. "I'll be over to pick you up around seven." He promised.

She'd asked Sam to close the bar at five-thirty, so everyone would have time to get ready for the dance. Kitty had put the finishing touches on her hair, hoping the arrangement wasn't lopsided. She wished one of the girls had remained so she could ask her how she looked, but they had been eager to get back to Ma's to put their own dancing gowns on. She decided she'd wait for Matt downstairs. As she walked down the steps she thought how quiet it was. The click of her heels against the wood of the stairs resounded in the empty saloon.

Just as the clock struck seven, there was a rap on the door. "Kitty, are you ready?" Dillon called.

She opened the door, "Glad to see you're on time, Mister." She greeted.

The blue of her dress matched the shade of her eyes and he felt disappointment when she put her dark spectacles on. She'd never been prettier he thought. It came to him that he should tell her so, "You fill that new dress out real good."

She laughed not sure if he was giving her a compliment, but deciding to take it as such, "Thank you." She replied.

They walked down the street to the barn dance hand in hand. The evening air was warm and smelled of popcorn, cigars and sweet talc. Lively music from the dance hurried their footsteps.

The barn was filled to the rafters, where the older Roniger children along with their friends had climbed to get a better view of the goings on. The Ladies Aide and the Women's Auxiliary sat in groups around the refreshment table keeping guard on the punch bowl in case anyone felt compelled to liven up the mix with a little moonshine. Farmers relaxed against the walls discussing crops while the cattlemen congregated in groups amiably arguing about who had the best breeding stock. The dance floor was full, as folks young and old, took their turn for the Virginia Reel or the Kentucky High Step. Laughter and merriment joined the music in sweet harmony.

At a corner table a bit away from the crowd sat Matt and Kitty. He was wearing his courting jacket. Its rough texture brushed against her bare arm. He smelled mildly of bay rum which meant he'd gotten a haircut and shave for the occasion. She inhaled deeply finding the masculine aroma tempting. He smiled down at her and patted her hand on the table.

"Having a good time?" he asked.

"Um hmm." She murmured. "But, I'd be having a better time if a certain cowboy would work up the nerve to ask me for a dance."

He chuckled, "Alright Miss Kitty, let's just see if you remember those dance steps I taught you last night."

In a rare public moment of unbridled enthusiasm he pulled her to her feet and into his arms taking her breath away. "Oh I remember, I most certainly remember." She laughed huskily.

It had been scary at first, dancing around the crowded floor not seeing where she was going. She'd been forced to rely completely on Dillon's direction with no other choice but follow and trust his lead. His hold had been so sure that she soon relaxed and gave in to the music. They had danced several waltzes and a Kentucky High Step when she started to feel a little dizzy from the unaccustomed exertion. She had put a hand to her head rubbing between her eyes. Matt noticed and pulled her outside into the fresh night air. "Maybe I should get Doc?" He questioned.

"Oh don't be silly, it was just hot in there and I'm not used to dancing in a room full of people since we do most of our dancing in private. Let's just stay out here for a little while."

He nodded and then remembered she couldn't see his nod. "Alright." he answered. She looked better in the fresh air but it still seemed to him he should do something so he offered, "Would you care for a glass of Ma's punch?"

She could imagine his worried fidgeting and knew Matt Dillon was a man of action, "I'd like that."

Harley Watson had watched them from a distance since they had arrived at the dance. Now he used the opportunity to move in on Kitty.

"Evening Ma'am," he greeted.

"Harvey Carson? Are you enjoying the dance? It sounds like a good turnout."

"Wouldn't surprise me none if every man, woman and child livin' within twenty miles of Dodge, is here tonight. You look real pretty Miss Kitty, that color suits you."

"Why thank you Harvey, that's mighty nice of you to say. Have you found someone special to dance with tonight?"

"No ma'am, I'd feel right clumsy out there. I'm not much of a dancer, never learned how." He admitted.

"Every one feels clumsy at first, what you need is some nice girl to teach you a few of the steps."

Matt returned with their drinks. He placed a glass in Kitty's hand. "I'm afraid punch isn't the name I'd use for this drink, but at least it's wet."

He nodded his head in greeting to Kitty's companion. He was struck by the feeling he knew this young man from somewhere before and slightly annoyed he was monopolizing Kitty's time. "I imagine you'll be moving on soon Carson. Didn't you say you were headed for California?"

For a brief instant the men locked eyes. Watson looked away first. "Yeah Marshal, I expect I'll be headin' out real soon."

There was something in the way he said the words that made Dillon feel the need to question him further, but that inclination was put to a halt by what happened next.

A stranger, his sweaty face covered by soot and his clothing soiled by dirt and ashes ran through the crowd to stand in the center of the dance floor, "FIRE!" he cried, "FIRE!"

Dillon pushed his way through the throng to stop in front of the man, "Where?"

The moustached stranger spoke in breathless phrases, "Down by the Methodist Church, three or four houses around it are burning too."

From the open barn doors a spire of fire and smoke was visible from the West side of town. There was momentary chaos, woman screamed and mothers grabbed for their children. Dillon took charge "Alright now, stay calm, we're going to need every able-bodied man, shovels, buckets … you women folk take your children and head on home now." In the distance someone was ringing the church bell of the Baptist house of worship located at right angle to the burning buildings.

Festus Hagen was already organizing the volunteer firemen, directing them to get the water wagon and supplies kept on hand at the firehouse. Matt turned toward the town physician, "We're gonna need you down there Doc."

"I'll get my bag."

The Marshal nodded and walked quickly back to Kitty who was standing with Carson. He spoke up before Dillon could ask. "I'll take care of Miss Kitty sir. I'll get her back to the Long Branch then I'll head on out to help with the fire."

Matt hesitated torn by duty and his concern for Kitty. But, she was already thanking Harvey Carson while taking his arm. "Be careful Matt." She said before they walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

**Fifteen**

She was fretting as they stopped in front of the saloon and young man felt obliged to say something to comfort her. That was odd he thought, since he knew Fargo had plans for her tonight. "I'm sure they'll get the fire put out without causing too much damage Ma'am."

Kitty grimaced a reply, unable to mask her worry. She handed him the key so he could unlock the door. As he held the door open for her he said, "I'll just light a lamp for you Miss Kitty."

"Harvey, I can't see, I have no need for burning light. Thank you for taking me home, I'll be just fine now, but, please go down to the fire, tell Matt I'll be waiting up for him."

She sensed an uncertainty to the young man before he answered, "Yes'm."

"Really don't worry about me, I'll be just fine here on my own. Thank you again." She heard the door behind her click shut. She felt the need for a drink and made her way to the bar, walking its length to reach the back side. She grabbed a bottle from the shelf and poured a goodly amount and took a generous gulp. The whiskey proved a good bracer. She refilled the glass. There was nothing more for her to do but wait for Dillon's return.

She was near her office when she heard the front door open. Harley must not have locked it when he left. "Who's there?" she questioned, forcing more confidence to her voice than she felt. There was no answer, so she said firmly, "Go away, we're closed."

Still no reply, there wasn't a sound at all and she convinced herself she had imagined the noise. She gave a mute laugh and moved toward the stairway. But she stopped abruptly, for with each step she took she heard a matching boot step on the hard wood floors. "Who's there" She asked again. She gripped the glass in her hand a little tighter realizing it was the only weapon at her immediate disposal.

The foot steps stopped and she heard the flick of a match and smelled the burn of sulfur. "There you are missy. Told Hootie to make sure a lamp was burning so I could see your pretty face when I paid my visit. The boy didn't do as he was told."

She swallowed down her fear and forced bravado to her voice, "Who are you, what do you want with me?"

"My oh my, I am hurt. Could it be you don't remember my last visit? What do I want with you? Why what would any man want from the likes of you, saloon gal?" His laugh was crude and it set her flesh to crawl.

"Get out of here or I'll call for help."

"Fat lot of good that'll do Missy. The good folks of Dodge are on the other side of town tendin' to that fire my pardner started. But go ahead, scream if you think it'll do you some good. I like a little fight to my women. Adds to the enjoyment I always say, and I do plan on enjoying you some before I kill you."

He was moving toward her again, his footsteps coming closer and closer until she could feel his breath upon her and see a hazy glow from the lit match. "My oh my you look mighty pretty by the light of this here Lucifer stick."

In sheer panic she raised her whiskey glass and aimed the liquid at the glow while ducking out-of-the-way. She ran toward the stairs. She could hear him sputtering and cursing behind her.

"God damn it." he swore. There was the sound of him fumbling around as he tried to light another match but she must have hit them with the whiskey for it sounded as though they were too damp to light. She realized they were on even footing, both in the dark. If she could make it to her room and to her derringer she'd have a chance.

He was stumbling after her, she heard him crash into a table as she lifted her skirts to run up the thirteen steps. She tripped and grabbed for the banister pulling herself to the landing. From below she could hear her assailant at the bottom of the stairs. Four paces to her room, she reminded herself. Holding her hand out in front of her she came in contact with the wall. She reached out searching for the knob while trying to ignore the panic in the pit of her stomach and the sound of her attacker moving in on her.

His hands closed around her just as her fingers grabbed the door knob. "Well now Missy if you don't stop running I ain't gonna have no energy left to pleasure you." His breath was disgusting and his hands rough and abusive as they traveled over the embroidered bodice of the pretty blue gown.

She turned her head to the side to avoid his lips, "Why?" she cried, "Why do you hate me so."

"Because you lived and my Lois Mae didn't. It was Dillon's fault. His bullet took my Lois Mae and his fault I spent ten years in prison. I vowed to get even with him, vowed to make him suffer like I suffered.

She was buying time and knew she had to keep him talking. "Ten years ago, that's a long time. Matt wasn't even the Marshal ten years ago." She was fighting her memory, "Lois Mae … Lois Mae Watson?"

"Yeah, she was my woman. I got out of jail and got saddled with her kid brother, well he's proven his worth, kept that money safe for me all these years, gonna be kinda sad to see him go."

Words were her only defense against time, "What do you mean, see him go?"

"You ain't so very bright are you Red? Why I'll kill him, that way I get his share of the loot."

"Well I'm not nearly as clever as you are. There was another man with you the last time we met. What about him?"

"Gundrum? I won't need him much longer either." Fargo's breathing became heavier as his hands came in contact with the swell of her breast. He ground his hips against her frame. "Now shut up, I'm tired of talking."

_Fargo_, his name came back to her like a lighting strike. "Fargo, you're Homer Fargo." The memory of those incidents of ten years ago fell back into place. The fine features of Lois Mae's face, her kid brother Hootie and Homer Fargo suddenly became clear to her. She had to keep her wits about her, she tried reasoning with him, "Matt couldn't have killed Lois Mae, he was wounded in the shoot out."

Madness took hold of Fargo, his lip curled. His hands tightened around her neck. "You're a lyin' bitch."

Fear gave her courage, her knee jerked into his crotch. He released his hold enough for her to get away and she ran to the far corner of the balcony. He was instantly on her. Pinning her to the wall. His rough hands violated her body, "So this is how it's gonna end is it Red?"

From the main floor of the saloon a lamp was lit washing the room in dim light. Dillon's voice resonated off the walls. "It's over Fargo, your partner's dead, he confessed everything. Let Kitty go. It's me you want. Let her go and face me like a man."

"Is that right Dillon?" The outlaw snorted, "Gundrum always was a poor risk." It didn't matter now, he had Dillon and his woman right where he wanted them. "Face you like a man eh? Let's see how big a man you are without a six shooter strapped to your side. Unbuckle your gun belt and toss it across the room."

It took only a quick glace at Kitty before Dillon followed Fargo's order. The outlaw let out a belly laugh. "Not so big now are you Dillon? This is working out better than I'd planned. You'll watch your woman die, just like I watched Lois Mae."

"I'm sorry about what happened to Lois Mae, she didn't deserve to die."

Fargo's fingers tightened visibly around Kitty's neck as he backed her precariously close to the railing. "This one ain't got a right to be alive not when Lois Mae's dead."

"Kitty had nothing to do with this. What happened to you and Lois Mae was no one's fault but your own."

"NO!" Homer screamed. "Your fault Dillon, all your fault, and now you're gonna pay with your woman's life." '

"Don't do it Fargo, she's an innocent woman!" Matt pleaded.

From the shadows near the base of the stairs there was the instant red-orange flash of a gunshot and the deafening sound reverberating against the walls of the saloon as Dillon's discarded weapon was fired. The force of the bullet's impact struck the unsuspecting Fargo.

He staggered, looking for the shooter, for a moment he stood perfectly still and uttered the name of his killer before he crumpled to the floor. "Hootie."

Kitty had been suddenly released from Fargo's clutches. Barely conscious she reeled backward, unable to catch herself. She fell against the railing with her arms flailing in the air for a brief moment before she completely lost her balance. She was aware of her body falling as if in some bad dream, her muscles tightened in anticipation of impact with the hard floor. It came as a great surprise to find her rapid decent stopped abruptly and most gently by the strong and waiting arms of Matt Dillon.

"Matt!" She cried fighting off hysteria, "Oh Matt, thank God, thank God …"

His hold tightened as emotion claimed his voice. It was several beats before he was able to whisper in return. "Miss Kitty nice of you to drop by." She wrapped her arms around his neck and offered a silent prayer. Matt turned slightly to see Hootie Watson sitting on the bottom step with the gun still in his hand. It was as if his face had been wiped clean of emotion. Dillon didn't know when the boy had entered the saloon he only knew he owed him Kitty's life. Harley looked up at the lawman and for the second time that night the two men locked eyes. This time, Watson didn't need to look away. Dillon gave a single nod of his head and said, "Thank you Hootie."


	17. Chapter 17

**Epilogue**

Kitty's arm was wrapped around Dillon's solid waist as they stood together in the street and waved farewell to Harley Watson.

"Good luck in California." Kitty called one last time as the lone figure on horseback rounded the turn and disappeared from view.

She turned to look at Dillon whose face and features were becoming clearer with each passing day. The big man smiled down at her. "I guess that's the end of the story. How about some coffee and pie?"

"That sounds good." She replied.

The street was busy with mid day traffic and she was glad for the security of her hand resting on Matt Dillon's arm. She couldn't think of a nicer place to be. When they got to the boardwalk he advised her from force of habit to 'step-up'.

Delmonico's was crowded, the only open space was a small two top in the corner. As luck would have it, Miss Edsel Pry was occupying a table next to theirs. The rear of her chair was located directly between Matt and Kitty's. The spinster lady leaned back in an effort to catch some of the conversation between the Marshal and his woman friend.

Kitty waited until their coffee had been served before saying, "I'm glad to see you agree with me Marshal."

Matt chuckled and replied, "I'd be a fool not to agree with you, but just what am I agreeing on today?"

Even with her bad eyesight, Kitty was conscious of Miss Pry's attempts to eavesdrop and she had no wish to add fuel to one of the town's leading busy bodies. "Outside, you said, 'that's the end of the story.'"

"Yeah, what does that have to do with agreeing with you?"

Aware of Miss Pry, Kitty had to choose her words carefully, "Do you remember that little literary discussion we had a few months back?"

Matt scowled. He had absolutely no clue what she was talking about.

Kitty rolled her eyes in Miss Pry's direction as she tried to continue the conversation, "I'm referring to the main characters in the book I was telling you about."

Dillon nodded then shook his head, "Ahhh." He replied for he was still lost.

Kitty took a deep breath, "Remember I compared their lives to ours?"

The light of understanding suddenly burned bright, it was coming back to him, "Oh, I guess you are right Miss Kitty, I have to agree, Ol Tex and Miss Lucy would have fit right in this adventure."

She folded her napkin and placed it neatly beside her coffee cup and admitted, "This is one story I never want to read again."

His eyes twinkled with mischief, "Oh I don't know the story did have some good parts."

"Yeah?" she questioned. "What?"

"I was partial to the chapter with the dance lessons. How about you and I go back to your place and read that one again?"

Edsel Pry nearly feel over backward in her chair. She could hardly believe her ears. Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell spent their time together reading. The dear old pie maker was almost ashamed of herself for what she had been thinking.

With a sparkle of humor in her eyes Kitty leaned forward and lowered her voice making it harder for Miss Pry to hear. "Matt, my eyesight has improved, but I don't think I'm ready to be reading anything just yet unless it's available in the Moon Method of Literary Hieroglyphics."

"Oh yeah, reading by touching." A slow smile spread across Matt Dillon's face. "I think that can be arranged."

The end.


End file.
